


My suitcase heart

by cobaltsiren, lazarus_girl



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobaltsiren/pseuds/cobaltsiren, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Quinn leave Lima after high school as a folk rock act with Puck and Sam.  Regrets and the rock lifestyle are taking their toll on Santana until everything changes between her and Quinn.  She blames it on Kansas City…</p><p>Co-written with lazarus_girl, who also did the art attached to the accompanying mix, see link below.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My suitcase heart

Download mix of the referenced songs here: [rar](http://www.sendspace.com/pro/dl/uibghr)/[zip](http://www.sendspace.com/pro/dl/jcas2d)

_You're the one who said_   
_You'd never leave_   
_I don't wanna feel like this_   
_But I'm so tired of missing you_   
_I don't wanna beg for your time_   
_I want you mine, all mine..._

1) Fall Apart Today

She left Brittany behind after high school.  It wasn't like she had much of a choice.  Brit had failed Algebra and English Lit and Spanish, even with Quinn and Santana tutoring her, so it wasn't like acing gym class would cut it.  Brittany was stuck in Lima, repeating senior year.  It was like leaving behind a limb, but the clean break was so necessary.  They loved each other, but the timing of the kind of love they were looking for had never synched up.  So all Santana wanted was out and away.  Thankfully, she and Quinn had a plan.

 

_I made my place by the door_   
_I didn't know what I was waiting for//_   
_I finally made it_   
_I made a clean getaway_   
_(And I miss you, I miss you every single day)_

2) Clean Getaway

She parks her rolling suitcase in the open closet in the entryway and drops her purse on the nightstand.  The bed swallows her up as she kicks off her heels.  All Santana really wants to do is sleep, but she has a show tonight.  So that means the next hour or so will be spent at the hotel bar, then she'll change, re-apply her makeup, and find Quinn, Puck, and Sam waiting for her in the lobby.  It’s as good a plan as any.

She’s halfway through a Jack and Coke when she notices the girl down the bar staring at her.  It’s really weird, beginning to be recognized.  They’re just another folk-rock band, but a folk-rock band fronted by two attractive females (with rumors about her sexuality floating around) is apparently just enough of a novelty these days.  She finishes her drink and scribbles a bit on her napkin. She walks down the length of the bar and slides it in front of the girl before walking away. "Room 203, concert's over @ 11" It’s becoming a bad habit.  But sometimes the random girls full of misplaced admiration are the only things in her life that still feels real.

 

_Lock me out of the sheets for a while_   
_Give us a kiss with sharp little knives//_   
_Give it up, give it back to me_   
_Open wide, kiss catastrophe_

3)  Kiss Catastrophe

She blames it on Kansas City.  She doesn’t even remember going into the bar.  (The drinking had started backstage after the show and hadn't stopped back in her hotel room.)  But suddenly there she was, in a bar doing shots with Quinn and then...

The entire Midwest is a giant cornfield full of nothing.  The cities barely count.  Hook-ups there certainly don't.  (But it's Quinn who rolls out of her bed in just a t-shirt the next morning, her hair sticking out in all directions and...can she just ignore that fact?)

 

_I sometimes think too much_   
_but say nothing at all//_   
_tell her something in my mind_   
_freezes up from time to time_

4) Tell Her This

She calls Brittany every few months (usually when drunk, but then she's drunk more often than not these days.)  They're playing a club called The Blind Pig in Michigan.  It's the closest she's been to Ohio in half a year or more, and she just wants to hear Brit’s voice and tell her about the club with the funny name and hear about how she's doing.

'Hey San.' 'Hi B.' 'You sound good.' (Not wasted, she means.) 'Yeah, you too.' (I miss you, she can't say.)  'I got an A in Bio.' 'Yeah?  That's awesome.  Maybe you can tell me why they call this place The Blind Pig then.' 'Um, because they wanted a catchy name? Everybody loves pigs, except the Angry Birds.' 'Yeah, you're probably right.'  Brit’s in community college now, taking Adderall and really _trying_ and doing amazingly well.  They talk about nothing much, until Santana say ‘Show’s starting soon, guess I’d better go.’ ‘Talk to you soon?’ ‘Yeah.’ (She means it this time.  As soon as she can handle it. So maybe a few weeks.)

 

_Lost inside  
A painting of the city on a hotel wall_

5) Wild Hope

They don’t talk about it. Diligently, like not forming words takes more effort than speaking.

They’re going to Chicago, after stopping for Dunkin Donuts. (Because Puck doesn’t open his eyes, let alone drive their beat-up van, without coffee.)  Santana pretends she’s not humming a few bars of Journey as they hit the city limits. 

It may be the big city at last, but they’re in the smallest, dingiest venue they’ve played all year.  The crowd is totally into it though, and Sam and Puck weave a cover of [Sufjan Stevens](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mLSeqNS8rs) into the bridge of one of their songs.  She’s so high on adrenaline after their closing number that she picks Quinn up off of her piano bench after and twirls her through the air.  The look that passes between them as she sets Q down is a little awkward, sure, but it’s fine.  They’re best friends, of course they’re fine.

 

_I held your hand until the light_   
_The scars were on the back//_   
_All this time, we get by, trying to figure out our lives_   
_Like a fade out_

6) Sweetest Kill

They were totally, completely fine.  Then it happened again.  And again.

 It's a habit, a routine of play and drink and drink and fuck.  They haven't talked about _why_ , it's dangerous and she knows it.  And yet, she's still here, listening to the rain batter the window of their motel room as she watches Quinn sleeping, not wanting to leave.  (She doesn’t think about what that means.)

She takes hold of Quinn's hand, flipping it palm up and examining the calluses.  (Three years of playing the keyboard every night and casual guitar lessons from Puck have taken their toll.)  Quinn stirs as Santana traces her lifeline.

She gives a croaky ‘hello’ as her good morning.  ‘Hey yourself,’ Santana replies. Q smiles and hooks her fingers through San's gently tracing ones. 'How long til we have to get up?' 'A couple hours.' 'Perfect.' Quinn presses their joined hands into the bed and shifts herself up to lean against the headboard. 'Got any smokes?' 'This isn't a smoking room.' San cocks an eyebrow at her. Q's sleepy smile turns wicked. 'Fuck it.  We're rock stars, right?'

She nods, and grabs a pack from her purse on the nightstand, holds it out to Quinn.  She pulls out the last one and frowns. 'No biggie,' San insists, lighting it for Q.  She takes a drag, and puffs out a ragged ring of smoke.  Shaking her head, she passes it back. 'You do it.' San grins, blows one ring, and then a smaller one through it. 'Show off,' Quinn wrinkles her nose and snatches the cigarette.  San bites back her smile as she settles into the pillows and watches the small red glow inch towards Quinn's fingers.

 

_I woke up with my mind on a reason_   
_For why it's right to be leaving you//_   
_And your lips are like little stings_   
_Set me to wondering_   
_If there's any way or any time_   
_I could have, I would have tried_

7) Ghost

She pushes Quinn up against the door of her hotel room as soon as they stumble through.  Her fingers are already stroking Quinn's back, playing along the waistband of her jeans as she tilts her head and nips at Q's lower lip.  They pick up where they left off, her tongue sliding into Quinn's mouth and her hand sliding lower.

They aren't nearly drunk enough.  (The bartenders in Flagstaff are stingier with their free drinks for performers, and they didn't sell enough t-shirts.)  They'll make do though; it's no hardship to see Quinn naked while sober. She spins Quinn towards the bed, easing her down and leaning over her, one knee sinking into the mattress.  As she circles an arm around Quinn's back she pulls away for a moment.

'I can't' she hears, in a small, tight, voice that doesn’t sound like Q at all. 'I can't’ Quinn repeats louder, her voice wavering as she turns her head away. 'Can't what? Is it that time of the month or something?' ‘This, this ... _Thing_.’ Her hand beats ineffectually at the air between them. 'What 'thing'?  We're just having fun, right?'  Her words slur slightly.  Quinn doesn't look convinced.  She laughs bitterly, shaking her head. 'Jesus, we're never gonna just say it, are we? I need....I can't keep doing this, I can't be here with you if you're with someone besides me.' 'Q, it's not.... it’s _not_ about her.' 'No? Then what _is_ it about?'  
  
She wants to shatter the silence, to explain, but her jaws grind and no words come. 'Sleep it off Santana.' Quinn pushes off of the bed and is out of the room in two steps. San doesn't even blink until the door slams.

 

8) Volcano

 

She wakes up the next morning with no magical burst of clarity, just the feeling that she’s cold in an empty bed.  She puts on her biggest pair of sunglasses, feigning a hangover and preparing for the longest drive of her life.

She feels like she could cut the tension on stage with a knife, but tries to convince herself it’s just her.  Quinn’s playing still flows like water through their music, and the boys don’t even know about it.  Still, she’s grateful for the upcoming break towards the end of their set where Puck and Sam just jam for a while on their guitars.  She lets out a breath as the song ends and steps back towards the drum kit.

Something’s different though, because Quinn is grabbing her mic from its stand and putting on her best performance smile. ‘We’ve been working on a little cover for you guys,’ she says, standing up and stepping towards Puck with his acoustic. ‘We don’t have a violinist, but we’re makin’ it work,’ Puck chimes in and strums some opening chords.

When she realizes what it is they’re singing, it hits her like a punch in the gut.  Puck sings the first verse and Quinn comes in on the chorus harmonies.  Santana inches further towards the back of the stage.  Quinn takes the second verse, and glances back over her shoulder just once:  ‘ _Is that all you need? Don’t drag my love around._ ’   She turns back to Puck and they sing at each other, smiling too much for the emotions swelling in the song. ‘ _You give me miles and miles of mountains and I ask for the sea._ ’ Quinn takes over on the bridge, and Puck echoes with little ‘still too young’s.  The melody fades slowly to the final lyric from Quinn.

 

‘ _You do not need me._ ’

 

It couldn’t be more untrue, but she can’t just grab the mic and announce it.  She can’t even whisper it when they’re walking into the hotel, Quinn hanging back but not looking at her.  She’s alone again in her room before she can even think of how the conversation would start.

 

_I’m not alone_   
_no, I’m just on my own_   
_and I…it's a little cold outside_   
_don’t think I’ll escape_   
_why would I escape you?_

9) Don’t Confess

She knows it’s all spiraling out of her control when Quinn walks out of Puck’s room in the morning.  She just gets in the van and curls in on herself.  Sam crawls into the middle seat and reaches back to put a hand on her shoulder.  He’s just being _nice_ but Santana flinches away because that’s all she knows.

The drive from Sacramento to San Jose is short and their show isn’t until the next day, so she holes up in her room with her last friend, Jacky D.  In a few hours, Quinn comes in without knocking and pulls the bottle from the cradle of Santana’s arms.  ‘We can’t both be the one who thinks problems will go away if we pretend they aren’t there,’ she says, after taking a drink. Santana nods once, and Quinn pushes on. ‘So stop making me be the one who forces a confrontation.’ The pause drags on, and San braves looking at her, swigging from the bottle again. ‘This isn’t high school,’ Quinn holds her gaze, ‘There’s no one around to hate us for being what we are any more.’ ‘I know.’ ‘So what are we?’ ‘We’re me and you,’ San breathes, ‘we’re best friends and…’ ‘And?’ ‘And that’s what’s important, isn’t it?’

The bottle hits the floor as Quinn makes a quick exit. ‘Best friends doesn’t cut it with you San, we both know that. Just…forget it.’

Slamming doors are becoming too familiar.  This one seems eerily final though, as whiskey pools around her feet.

 

_Summer disappears like a dream I had_   
_And winter comes with a knife that cuts you down_   
_And it never ends, oh it never ends._   
_Baby where did you go?_   
_Did you sail away over some distant ocean?_

10) It Will Not Be Forgotten

She turns over, drifting in the hazy state between sleeping and waking.  Her arm slips under the pillow next to her, but there's no weight holding it down.  Quinn isn't there.  
  
Quinn isn't anywhere.  No one has seen her since last night.  Fear settles like weight in her stomach, until they find a note in the van. _'On hiatus_.'  Puck shrugs it off, takes is as a good sign, but Santana's fear becomes a terrible certainty.  No one ever stays.

It hurts just as much the second time around.  Quinn had left her, more so than the band.  But the show had to go on.  Puck and Sam set everything up, while she sits on the vacant piano stool, awkwardly tapping at a few keys.  As the show starts she pulls Quinn's seat to the center of the stage, and stays there while she sings.  Everyone is more subdued, concentrating on adapting to the lack evident in the music, but she feels like she could break at any moment, without the wooden stool beneath her and the words of the songs pulling her through.

As the applause from the encore dies, and she's left standing with the boys on a darkened stage, it hits her full force: she's lost Quinn.  It aches in a way she's forgotten how to feel until now, because she finally knows it's her own fault. It's all for want of the one word she's always had difficulty in saying. If she'd told Quinn she loved her, there would be another person on this stage with her, to grab her hand and make her take a silly bow like it was a high school play. And there would be someone next to her in the morning.  
  
The only goodbye she got was two words.  If she gets the chance to say hello again, she swears she'll say the only three words that matter.

 

_And all that time, I felt just fine_   
_I held so many people in my suitcase heart_   
_That I had to let the whole thing go_   
_It was taken by the wind and snow_   
_And I still didn’t know that I was waiting_   
_For a girl on a slow pony home_

11) Slow Pony Home

When she first got out, her thoughts about Lima had been never, ever, ever again.  Her thoughts about Brit had been that she would catch up with them when she was ready, be their roadie, merch girl, or play tambourine or something.  Not that she would stay and try to make something of herself on her own.

It still stings to realize she’s been so selfish towards every person who has ever cared about her.

She’s back now, because she’s can’t think of where else Quinn would go.  She hasn’t worked up the courage to just drive to Judy Fabray's house and ask for her, so she finds Brit.  Out of politeness she knocks the door, and there's a few terrifying seconds when she thinks no one's home and she has no idea where to go next. But then there's Brit's sunny smile, just like she remembers.

'Bout time San.' Brit pulls her inside, up the same creaky steps to her bedroom.  'Yeah, I should have tried to visit.'  She reaches one arm around Brit's shoulders in half a hug. Brittany shakes her head and throws both arms around her.  'Yeah, you waited too long' she hums into Santana's neck, 'and you should have said something to Quinn.' 'Quinn?' Santana pulls back, 'Is she here?' 'No, but she called.' Brit sighs and her smile is a little sad now. 'You love her.' 'She told you that?' 'No, you did, last time you called.  You said it in between all your words.'  She takes Santana by her shoulders and gives her a surprisingly serious look. 'It's okay, I know you'll always love me.  But it's important that Quinn knows that you _love_ love her.' ‘I know B, but…’ ‘You’re scared.  It’s okay to be scared. It means you feel things.’  It’s better with feelings, Brit doesn’t quite say. She just smiles warmly and presses a ghost of a kiss to Santana’s cheek.  ‘Go on, you know where to find her right?’

Santana takes in a sharp breath. 'Yeah... yeah I do.'

 

_Chasing miles through the night time_   
_Making tracks with no time for looking back_   
_To the place where I belong_   
_How these days grow long_   
_But I'm on my way back home_

12) Dying Day

The fire exit for the auditorium is unlocked like always.  (It seems McKinley still couldn’t give a fuck about the arts even after they won Nationals senior year.)  Quinn is at the piano on the side of the stage, playing softly for an empty audience.  The [melody is familiar](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggJt3C74bRE), she’s pretty sure it’s by Journey.  Santana climbs the steps to the stage and says, ‘That’s not their best song you know.’  Quinn looks up, more sad that surprised. ‘Which one is? Don’t Stop Believing?’ ‘No, that one Finn and Rachel sang for Regionals.’ Quinn’s look is carefully neutral, just one eyebrow slightly raised. Santana sighs ‘You know.’ It’s not her ideal range but she sings it anyway, ‘ _[They say that the road](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj__jhmPMgI) ain’t no place to start a family, but right down the line it’s been you and me_.’  Quinn plays along with one hand after she gets a few words in. ‘That’s all I can remember, but I think I got the important bit.’  ‘Did you see Brit?’ Quinn asks as Santana sits on the bench next to her.  ‘Yeah.  She’s doing good.  But more importantly, she’s doing good _for herself_.  It’s something I should have started appreciating a long time ago.’ Quinn is still picking out the tune of Faithfully, but she stops as Santana puts a hand on her cheek and forces eye contact. ‘Look Quinn, I’m sorry.  I ran away from this place too hard, and everywhere I went I was still letting it get to me.  But I never would have gotten anywhere without you, and this thing between us, it's not about Brit or Lima or the band.  I fucking care, okay?'  Quinn's smile spreads slowly, hesitantly. 'I know,' she says, and softly, ' I love you too.'  Santana closes the gap between them, and Quinn tastes like her cigarettes and finally, home.

'Puck and Sam aren't like, waiting outside and perving are they?' Quinn asks once she catches her breath.  'Nah, they're meeting us in Austin.' 'Good, what are we waiting for then?' 'Were you gonna finish that song?'  Santana's eyes sparkle, so Quinn hits a few chords and picks up where they left off. _'Loving a music man ain't always what it's supposed to be, but oh girl, you stand by me_...'  She raises an eyebrow at San, waiting for her to go on, but she just grabs Quinn's hand off of the keys.  'You're right, I like Don't Stop Believing better.'  'Bitch,' Quinn mutters, bumping her with her shoulder.  Laughing, Santana pulls her off of the bench and out to the car.

The Midwest is a giant cornfield full of nothing.  The only way to survive a road trip is with good company, keeping you awake with Journey songs.


End file.
